


Stays On The Road

by Cesare, helens78



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Domination, Gay Mutant Road Trip, Humiliation, M/M, Road Trip, Situational Humiliation, Submission, To Be Continued, Verbal Humiliation, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik craves humiliation. Charles supplies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm a whore," Erik says dutifully.

"That's right. Say it. _Say_ it."

Erik tries to regain the blurred, frantic excitement he felt when this started, but Rob just isn't much of a fuck. He's not that forceful or that big, and he seems to expect Erik to narrate every second. It shames and thrills Erik to admit what he wants, but being prodded to recite it like this... it's wearing thin.

Maybe Rob senses the flagging interest. "Look at the marks on you. Someone's hands have been all over you. I bet you're out to bars looking for this every day, whore."

"Yes," Erik says, but it doesn't help. It just reminds him that in truth, last night was the first time in over a month. A month under the watchful eye of the CIA, a month spent almost constantly with Charles Xavier, who cheerfully partakes of one-night stands often-- if anyone's getting some every day, it's Charles.

The thought of Charles, of Charles seeing him like this-- hands and knees on the floor, giving up his ass to an anonymous fuck who isn't even any good, but Erik's that desperate, he'll take even this-- all at once Erik's lit up again, pushing back against Rob for more, grunting with frustration and hating himself for the disgusting noises he's making and humiliated that he needs this so much he'll seek it out even from this nothing of a man, one of the mere humans Erik's learning to despise...

"That's it, whore," Rob says, so repetitive and dull it's nearly enough to kill the whole thing, and Erik can't stand that thought now, he _needs_ this.

"Shut up," he hisses, "shut up and fuck me."

"You tell _me_ to shut up?" Rob scrabbles at Erik's shoulders, fails to get hold, but then he gets his hands under Erik's arms and manages to pull him upright and back against Rob's body-- the feel of the rough pad of chest hair against his back repulses Erik and has him moaning at the same time. "You tell me--" Rob continues to fumble, so clumsy Erik doesn't even register a threat til Rob gets a hand around his neck and suddenly shows some strength at last, his fingers digging in, closing like a vise as he levers Erik back to sit on his cock-- the humiliation spikes, Erik sick of himself for letting this man get the better of him for even a moment, for still wanting more of that thin stick of a cock up his ass even now-- and he has to touch himself, has to, giving himself all of two pulls before he comes in a messy surge all over his hand and the floor and his thigh.

He tears Rob's hand off his neck easily, wrenching the man's fingers badly enough for Rob to yowl a protest and start to lose his erection. Erik pulls off him and finds Rob glaring hatefully after him, all his thwarted lust transmuting to violence, his hand closing around the wooden handle of a mop. Erik extends his power to sense acutely every piece of metal in the storage closet, more than ready to defend himself.

"Enough," Charles says, and every particle of Erik's body goes to ice; his chest is frozen, he has no idea how his heart can thump so painfully in the midst of it.

Charles rests his fingers at his temple, and Rob's face takes on the vague, stupefied look that people get when Charles clouds their minds.

"I had him," Erik snaps, angry enough at the interference to almost, almost... but then Charles looks at him, naked and filthy in a storage closet, his ass still wet and open from another man's cock, and it's impossible, it's unbearable.

"Too much commotion," Charles says, and his eyes linger at Erik's throat. He shakes his head, shrugging out of his coat and coming close to settle it on Erik's shoulders. "You're done with this. Go back to the room."

In anything else, any other argument, Erik would bristle and set Charles back on his heels with the force of his fury. Charles is accustomed to giving orders, to having the last word in any dispute, and the fact that Erik is entirely independent of him and immune to his authority seems to confound him sometimes so completely it wounds him, a startled dismay in his eyes that Erik savors as much as he regrets. He would never want to hurt Charles, a fact that continually surprises him, but this is a callus Charles needs to develop, the friction of not always getting his way.

That's over, Erik realizes numbly. His opposition bothered Charles because Charles respected him, and Erik's squandered that for sex-- and to his mortification, the thought sparks Erik's hunger again, more fierce than ever. If Charles withdrew now, Erik would probably beg Rob for the chance to make it up to him, beg to suck him. He's swallowing against his sore throat at the idea of it.

Charles just waits, pitiless, and Erik scrubs himself with a handkerchief and dresses silently, his face scorching, eyes burning, anger and misery knotting tighter and tighter in his gut. He clutches the coat in his arms; Charles raises an eyebrow til he wraps it around himself again.

Rob is just beginning to pick himself off the floor, face still hazy, when Erik leaves, Charles at his elbow, shepherding him back to their hotel room. It's a longer walk than Erik can stand, numb with shock still, the coat around his shoulders the only thing that feels real.

As implacable as Charles seemed out there, the moment the door of their room closes behind them, he pulls at his tie, sharply digging his fingers into the knot and yanking it apart. "You're done with this," he repeats. "Clean up."

Erik casts off the coat and goes to do it, fast, efficient, standing over the sink, donning his clothes again over freshly scoured skin. Charles comes to the doorway, tie and jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled up. "And that," he says when Erik is done, indicating the Listerine. Erik flushes, shamed all over again, but he washes out his mouth.

"I have what I need from the CIA," he says finally. "It was always going to come to this. Now is as good a time as any to go."

"Whatever else you may be, you're not stupid," Charles says. "You can go if you want, Erik. You always could, you always can. But leaving over this would be idiotic."

"We can't possibly work together."

"Don't underestimate me," Charles snaps. "Or yourself. Of course we can work together. We've been doing well enough so far."

Erik shuts his eyes tightly. "You knew."

"Of course I knew," Charles says. "The first time you were shut away entertaining a young gentleman, I did my best to block you, but by the end your mind was screaming with wanting to be exposed and put to shame. And then nothing for a month, but last night... and then today, you were all but flaunting those marks of yours... it's clear enough what you want."

There's nothing Erik can say to that, standing here sick and self-loathing and hard, again, already.

Charles makes an impatient noise. "Come here." When Erik doesn't move right away, he snaps his fingers and points in front of him. "On your knees, or I'll _put_ you there."

He said he'd stay out of Erik's head, but who knows how bound Charles really feels by that promise, and anyway, Erik knows from their wrestle in the water when they first met that Charles could, conceivably, put him down physically, if only because Erik would find it impossible to really hurt him.

Especially over this, when deep in the filthy black pit at the heart of him, Erik wants to go. He kneels in front of Charles, hating every atom of himself for ruining this too, for imagining there could be anything between them to ruin; hating the tent in his trousers and the way his mouth waters.

"Don't look so displeased," Charles says. "This could work out very well for us," and he rests the sole of his shoe at Erik's groin, pressing Erik's hard cock against his thigh, sending his heartbeat rocketing through every part of his body, his pulse thumping everywhere. 

"No one else," Charles tells him. He brushes his thumb over Erik's lips; it's unreal, Erik's skin prickling everywhere with that touch, and when Charles presses, Erik gives up whatever resistance he might've imagined he could muster, and sucks his thumb in. "I don't care if that's hard for you, I don't give a damn what a slut you've been til now, you're my slut now. And I'll know. If you go to anyone else for this, I won't touch you again."

Erik nods, his face-- every part of him-- alive and on fire.

This is already too good to give up for anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

Erik wakes up to a heavy feeling at his groin. He's going to have to get up and relieve himself, but he slept well last night, better than he has in weeks. He remembers--

\--Charles's hand on the back of his neck, forcing him down, putting him on the floor--

\--Charles's thumb brushing back and forth, and the disappointed hum in his voice when he told Erik _not good enough yet, we'll try again tomorrow_ \--

\--staying put, catching his breath, harder than forged iron and burning with all of it, what Charles saw him do, what Charles told him they'd be from now on, Charles's promise and rejection all tied up together--

\--he opens his eyes, and sees Charles sitting beside him, fully dressed, showered, shaved. Charles's hand is under the covers, his palm hot against Erik's morning erection.

"Look at you," Charles says easily. He doesn't squeeze, and Erik knows better than to rock up against his hand-- though his own hands curl into fists as he forces himself to hold back. "Not even awake and your body's asking for it. Roll over."

Not a dream, then. Not a fantasy. Charles meant it, when he said all those things last night.

_You're my slut now._

Erik rolls, and when Charles takes the sheet down, Erik holds his breath. Charles doesn't touch him, but Erik feels the weight of Charles's gaze on him, pinning him as surely as his hands or his power.

"I know what you get up to, in the morning, in the shower." Charles's hand moves beside him; Erik feels the motion against the sheet, and the sheet moving against his thigh. Erik bites his lower lip, already wanting to beg. He can't, though, not for this, not yet. What little respect Charles might have left for him-- it won't withstand hearing Erik beg, first thing in the morning, before he's even got himself out of bed.

Charles moves his hand to the back of Erik's thigh, the sheet crumpled between them. They don't make contact. Erik manages to let out a shaky breath.

"I know you try to make it fast," Charles says, "because you're hoping no one will notice that you're such a whore you can't even last an hour without tossing off."

Erik bites his lip again and presses his face harder against his pillow. _Please._

"Out loud."

God, of course Charles heard that; if Erik weren't holding those thoughts behind his teeth and his swollen lip, they'd be out in the air where anyone could hear. At least right now, it's only Charles.

"We both know what you want to say. Go on. Say it out loud."

Erik tilts his head up, lifts himself off his pillow, and whispers, "Please."

The bed creaks as Charles bends down next to him. Erik can smell Charles's shaving soap, he can almost taste the cologne on Charles's throat, but Charles distracts him from all of that when he draws his hand up to Erik's ass. He doesn't try to part Erik's cheeks, though Erik's straining now not to spread his legs like a slut, like the desperate slut he is-- Charles was right, not even five minutes awake and Erik's already begging for it, wanting nothing more than to grind his hips down against the rough motel sheets and shove his cock into those folds of fabric and feel Charles reaming him, plowing into him until he's sore, aching...

"You have marks on you from the last two nights. Did you know that?" Charles asks. He sounds as calm as he might if he were asking what Erik wants for breakfast. "Two different men who shouldn't have been allowed to breathe on you, and you let them hurt you and fuck you and _mark_ you."

"I'm sorry," tumbles out of Erik's throat, and he bites his lip again, desperate to hold those things back. But Charles presses a soft kiss to his shoulder, one that quickly has Erik moaning out a breath, and then he's moving away, coming to his feet.

"When you shower this morning," Charles says, "you won't get off. You're not coming again until I _make_ you." Charles dusts off his argyle sweater vest and checks his cuffs. "And don't bother with a cold shower. We both know that doesn't help."

Erik stands under cold spray anyway, for the few seconds it takes for the shower to warm up. Charles is right. It doesn't make any difference at all.


End file.
